Watching Him Remember
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: The summer day had ended, yet not everyone had been granted sleep. He had wanted to be alone, and she had wanted a drink to defeat her insomnia. He remembered, and she watched. And both had wondered. SBHG. -Companion story to 'Come Back To Me'-


_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. Specifically, there's a quote from page 370 (American Edition) in "Chapter 19: 'The Servant of Lord Voldemort' of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. _However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me._

_Summary__: The summer day had ended, yet not everyone had been granted sleep. He had wanted to be alone, and she had wanted a drink to defeat her insomnia. He remembered, and she watched. And both had wondered._

_Author's__ Note__: Alright, here's another part to that overall story for Sirius and Hermione that started being told in my one-shot, _Come Back To Me. _While I will admit that this one-shot isn't technically a sequel in the strictest sense of the word to _CBTM, _it is __**strongly recommended that you read **_**Come Back To Me **_**first, **__before reading this story here! With the way this fic is written, _Come Back To Me _would be significantly spoiled for you if you read this story without having read _CBTM. _Also, a great "Thank You" goes out to __**Cassie (ms. leading) **__of MNFF for beta-ing this story for me! And now, I present for your reading enjoyment, _Watching Him Remember.

* * *

**Watching Him Remember**

**By ForeverSirius77**

* * *

"_I won't forget you … I _can't _forget you …"_

_--from _Come Back To Me

* * *

The blazingly hot afternoon sun had long since set behind the horizon; dark clouds that promised a long-awaited rainfall were already moving in to cover the sky as day turned into night. A crescent-shaped moon held its position in the sky, reigning as the dominant light of nature once the sun disappeared. Even the stars twinkled from their positions in the inky blackness above the cities and towns, houses and forests.

Darkness had also fallen over many of the rooms in the house that stood near the end of the street. Most of the windows remained closed, the lights all dimmed and the doors all locked and shut. Bedrooms in the house – those that had been cleaned, that is – held slumbering inhabitants, some young, some old, some being one but feeling the other. Dreams floated through some of the sleeping minds, while nightmares assaulted others.

But not everyone was asleep, and he could not even blame a nightmare as being the cause of his insomnia this time.

A single candle sat on a table in the library, its flickering flame not doing much to light up the room, but it was enough for him. He had no reason to see across the room. There was no need to examine the spines of the hundreds of books that sat on the tall, strong shelves along the room's walls, nor did he wish to look at the numerous ornaments and artefacts that had been placed in glass cabinets. He did not wish to have light to make out details of the portraits that hung on the dusty walls.

But, perhaps more importantly, he did not want anyone to know that he was there; he wanted to be alone.

Locks of long, black hair fell into his face as he sat in one of the library's large chairs, his fingers tearing at one of the holes in the seat's armrest. A drink sat on the table in front of him, along with that single candle, but he had long since forgotten about it; the half-empty glass had not been touched in over an hour.

His mind was elsewhere.

He was lost in his thoughts, be they memories of years in the past or ones that were far, far more recent. He tried to connect what he knew of the past with the situation of the present, not to mention whatever hope there was for the future. Past … Present … Future … Time. It all amounted to time, in some manner or another. What was … What is … What will be … Or what _could _be …

Emotions that had long since been buried, ones that he had long since forgotten, ones long since abandoned and left untouched, swam through him. They combined with the thoughts. They twisted themselves with his memories and made him feel even more confused than he already was.

But, he supposed that with her, such was not much of a surprise.

After all, there had been many times where something about her had left him confused.

He sighed, shutting his eyes for the briefest of moments as he allowed the memories to overwhelm him.

* * *

She stood just outside of the door to the library, her pyjama-clad figure hidden in the shadows of the empty corridors. Her long, brown hair had been hurriedly pulled back, away from her face, the curly locks already slightly tangled from her earlier tossing and turning. For hours, she had tried to fall asleep, tried to fall into the dreaming worlds that come with peaceful slumber, but no matter what she did, her mind would not stop.

And so, she had risen from her bed, shoving her hair out of her eyes and wearing a scowl on her face at her insomnia. She had left the room, her bare feet allowing for silent travel as she walked through the narrow, dark hallways of the house. Her first night here, she never would have thought of wandering the corridors without a light – not in _this _house. But, after nearly a week, her confidence had grown, and she no longer feared what could have been lurking in the heavy shadows.

Her path towards the basement kitchen, however, had been halted when a small light had caught her notice. Any thoughts of getting a drink to help her sleep had left her mind as she approached the doorway, through which she could see the flickering firelight from the library's single candle. The light was not enough to pierce the darkness of the room or to reveal her hiding place, but it was enough for her to make out the solitary figure who sat in the large chair next to the candle.

She watched him as he tore at one of the holes on the chair, causing more of the stuffing to drift downwards to the floor. She watched him as, every once in a while, he ran a hand through his ebony locks, pushing the strands away from his face. She watched him as his eyes stared at nothing in particular, focussing on no specific point in the room. She watched him as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took, the sounds of occasional deep sighs audible enough to reach her ears from across the room.

She was entranced by him, her dark-coloured eyes unable to be torn away. A part of her logical mind briefly wondered at the reasons of _why, _why her attention was so rapt on him, so focussed on him. But for once, she was not interested in immediately discovering the answer to that inquiry. Instead, her gaze remained on him as he sat, deep in thought, and the only question that she _did _desire an answer to at that point was "What was on his mind?"

Yet, it was not a question that she felt polite to ask – not when the answer was probably a very private one – and so she remained standing in the corridor, still hidden in the shadows.

And she watched him.

* * *

_He had never known anyone like her, and as the days continued to go by, he slowly became aware of the fact that he probably never would. A mind that was just as sharp as his own (if not sharper at times), a tongue that matched him wit for wit, a smile that shone, and eyes that glowed … Never had he found them all in one person. _

_Until her. _

_Twenty years old, the beautiful witch had captured his attention one day as she'd wandered through Hogsmeade, literally running into him in the street. The impact had sent her stumbling backwards, in the process of falling to the ground. And she would have had a nice meeting with the street, had his hands not reached out and caught her own. Breathless, she had muttered a quiet "Thanks" as she looked up at his face, their gazes locking, brown staring into grey. _

"_Are you all right?" he'd asked._

_She'd nodded. "Yes, yes I'm fine," she'd said, smiling. "I'm sorry for running into you like that –"_

"_No, it's no problem," he'd interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm Sirius."_

_She had paused for barely a moment before returning the greeting. "Hermione."_

He sighed, the memory fading away as he did so and others rising to take its place. His mind was assaulted with the memories – ones of the days spent with Hermione following that initial meeting, ones of the times when everyone would gather at either the Potters or his place for Christmas or a birthday or just an evening with friends. He recalled how time had passed, days slowly turning into weeks, which then became months, and all the while, his feelings grew stronger towards the witch that he'd met by chance –

Or perhaps it'd been fate.

He didn't know.

It hadn't taken him too long, however, to come to the conclusion that he had fallen in love with her.

_Together, they'd walked along the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, night having already come, and the shops starting to close up. The alley was beginning to empty, the crowds of people dispersing to return to their homes, their errands completed. But they had not been in any sort of hurry that evening, and neither of them had any desire to end the night sooner than it had to be. _

_And so they walked, hand in hand and fingers intertwining, oblivious to the departing shop owners, the darkening streets, and the other couples who were just as oblivious to the goings-on in the centre as the two of them were. Flickering firelight shone from the lights in the alley, but soon they were put out, Diagon Alley being plunged into darkness that was only broken by the bright orb of the moon and the twinkling stars in the sky. _

_With a _pop_, they had left the centre behind, arriving instantly in a nearby park. Soft, green grass covered the grounds, and several large trees dotted along the path in front of them, a warm wind blowing through the trees' branches. Every once in a while, a streetlamp would stand, providing light upon the pathway for them to see their way, allowing the couple to continue their evening. _

_They had stopped walking once the path made a turn, diverging into another direction through a deeper part of the surrounding forest. A lone, wooden bench sat just off of the trail, and it was towards this that they'd headed, taking a seat upon reaching it. The wood of the bench felt worn and smooth, like it had been exposed to the elements for decades, yet the strength and sturdiness of it remained. _

_He'd placed an arm around her, and she'd leaned into him, her head finding a resting place near his shoulder. Locks of her hair had become entangled in his fingers as he twisted the curly strands subconsciously. He looked down at her, at how relaxed her body was, her eyes alternating between glancing up at the twinkling stars and drifting closed. _

_And as he'd watched her, a smile gracing her lips and sighs of contentment escaping her mouth, he had known that his feelings for her had surpassed anything he'd ever felt for anyone before; his mind had finally understood the emotion that his heart had been trying to impart to him for weeks – that there would be no other like her. _

_So he had spoken those three words aloud to her, those three words that expressed the depth of his feelings for her, those three words that he had spoken before, but which had not been truly understood until this moment; he had uttered those three, innocent – yet important and imperative – words to the beautiful witch that sat next to him, her chocolate-coloured orbs connected with his own stormy grey gaze. _

_Although, a part of him wasn't expecting – hoping, yes, but not expecting – her response. _

"_I love you, too," she'd whispered._

* * *

She still stood in the shadow of the doorway, her eyes still glued to his pensive form. All thoughts of her sleepless night, all plans of trying to rectify that problem, had since fallen from her mind. Instead, she watched … and she wondered.

Rarely had she seen him like this, she realised. Granted, she had only really known him for a little over a year, but regardless of that, she felt like something was different this time. She had seen him go silent, had seen him when thoughts or memories of the past played out in his mind. She had seen him – rarely, but she had – when he would remember.

And every time she had witnessed such silences, she had always felt the same two emotions. The first was simple, one that everyone who knew her would easily recognise – and expect: Her natural yearning to solve the problem – to fix it, to make things better. She had wanted to help.

Yet, the guilt that she always simultaneously felt kept her from saying anything.

She had felt like it was wrong for her to see those unguarded moments, those times when the past took precedence in his mind. She had felt like she was intruding on a moment, on a scene, that wasn't for her to see. A private moment that shouldn't have had an audience.

She felt guilty, and the guilt was stronger than her desire to know, stronger than her wish to solve the reasons for his melancholy. So she said nothing. Not a word to anyone.

But no one knew that she still watched him.

* * *

He paid no attention to the time as the minutes continued to tick by, the night continuing on and on. Dawn would be here soon, a part of his mind realised. Light would begin to shine through the curtained windows, and a new day would arrive. It would be a new beginning for some.

He scoffed at such an idea. _New beginnings. _It wasn't real; this coming day would be just like the one before it, and the next would be the same. There would be nothing _new _about it.

At least, there wouldn't be for him.

And the memories just kept coming, running through his mind like a film. Time had passed back then, as well. Only it hadn't been minutes turning into hours so much as it had been weeks turning into months – and then years. But there hadn't been many of those.

_Two years. _

They had only had two years. Just two years – twenty-four months, over one hundred weeks, more than seven hundred days – It didn't matter how one said it, what increment of time one chose to use. It all amounted to the same thing.

And two years could never have been enough.

_Light rain had been falling from the sky, and there was no hint in the day's weather that the storms would grow worse and harsher over the following days. Nothing about that day's shower hinted that, in just a few days, thunder would rumble, lightning would split the sky, and the earth would be tormented by storms as if it was ending. _

_They sat together on the parlour's sofa, relaxed and ignoring the fact that the work which had been the initial reason for this meeting needed to be completed. Neither of them wanted to move from their comfortable positions. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, strands of her curly hair twisted in his fingers, while she had her head lying upon him. _

"_Sirius?" Her quiet voice easily broke through the silence. _

"_Yeah?" _

_Their eyes met as she slowly lifted her head. Her eyes always showed every emotion that she was feeling; he'd figured that out quickly after meeting her. If one knew what to look for in her eyes, one could know how she felt. It was a talent that hadn't taken him too long to learn. _

_Yet in this moment, he was confused. Her eyes weren't showing pure happiness nor the carefree contentment that he knew that she'd felt before. Neither were they darkened as they did when she was angry, nor was sadness the dominant feeling in the young witch next to him. They didn't hold the twinkling sparkle that they did when she was feeling mischievous, nor did they shine in that way that they did when she was deep in thought. _

_The silence that had been destroyed when she'd first uttered his name reigned once again. Only the sounds of the rain shower joined that of their breathing to intrude upon the quiet. "I have something I need to tell you," she'd whispered. _

_And then she had broken her stare, bringing her eyes to her lap and away from his. Her quiet voice, her hesitant tone, the way that every action she made screamed at him, that look in her eyes – He knew that this was no minor conversation. _

"_What is it, Hermione?" he'd asked, lifting her face with his hand. He forced her eyes to meet his once again, tried to understand her emotions. Yet like before, it did him no good. _

_A sigh, and then she'd told him. Told him words that he never wanted to hear come from her. _

"_I have to leave," she'd said. "By Saturday, I'll be gone." _

He remembered that day, remembered it clearly.

He remembered knowing that her words hadn't meant she would be leaving on a trip, remembered knowing – though the fact had gone unsaid – that there was a more _permanent _meaning to "gone". He remembered trying to get her to tell him _why, _and he remembered that she couldn't. He remembered as she tried to explain, remembered as she stopped trying to keep her tears away and just let the salty liquid drift down her cheeks.

He remembered how he had started to walk away.

And he remembered her voice making him stop.

"_I love you!" _

_Those three words had made him halt. Not one more step had he taken after she'd shouted those three words. It hadn't been the first time, of course, that they'd admitted the depth of their feelings for one another, yet there was emotion in this proclamation that hadn't been there on that late-night walk through a park. Need, desperation, desire, hope, sadness … they were all there in those three words. _

"_I love you." Her voice was now quiet, soft and whispered. The words were not shouted this time; they were only spoken gently. The same emotions still surrounded her statement, though. He knew that hadn't changed. _

_And yet, he could not turn around to face her. He could not bring himself to look behind him, to allow his eyes to meet hers. He could not bring himself to, in that moment, tell her that he felt the same, could not say those three, simple words to her like she had said to him. Regardless of how much his heart yearned to do just that, regardless of how strongly he felt towards the witch that remained on the sofa, he still could not turn around. _

"_Please, don't leave like this, Sirius …"_

_He had sighed, deeply and heavily, and had stared at the ground. Perhaps a part of him had hoped an answer would be revealed upon the wooden boards below him. Perhaps he was still trying to deal with the conflicting thoughts, the myriad of emotions, that were swirling through him at the time. He didn't know quite what he was looking for as his gaze remained on the ground, as his hair fell around his face and kept his peripheral sight from seeing any other part of the room. _

_As his hair blocked his vision and kept him from feeling such a strong temptation to turn around. (Oh, the temptation still existed, he knew. With every beat of his heart, there was a part of him that yearned for nothing else than to look behind him. And perhaps he had just been lying to himself when he thought such temptation, such yearning, had been dimmed by such a small thing as blocked sight.) _

"_Come back." He heard her whisper, heard her plea, though the words were barely audible, the volume of her voice barely louder than a breath. "Come back to me." _

His face fell into his hands as a heavy sigh – so like the one from that night – tore from him. Rough hands ran over his tired face and through his ebony locks of hair. Glancing at the table in front of him, his eyes caught sight of the half-empty glass, and without any hesitation, he downed the rest of the liquid, barely caring that it had been sitting out for so long and tasted horrible.

He had needed something to do, and perhaps he had hoped that the bitterness of the drink would divert his mind from the memories and emotions for a time. Anything to keep the regret from building up again. And yet, he should have known that the drink wouldn't help. It never did, after all. He had tried it many times before, and the result was always the same.

Memories remained. Emotions grew. Regret suffocated him.

He hadn't turned around then. Even when she had pleaded with him to face her, to return to her, he had not done so. Whether it had been strength or cowardice that pushed him forwards, he had taken that next step and moved closer towards the door. He had grown closer to his destination – and further away from her – with that step. Another step had followed, and another one. He had kept walking until he'd left the room.

For three days, he had stayed away. For three days, he had ignored everyone and everything, not leaving his home for anything. For three days, the storms had grown worse, and he had tried to figure out what to do.

In the end, he had gone back.

"_I wasn't expecting you to come." _

_He had known that. He had known since the moment that he'd left the parlour three days before that she wouldn't expect him to return. And when he had left then, he hadn't expected _himself _to come back to her. _

_Yet the past three days had showed him just how wrong such a belief had been. _

_He had just remained standing in the doorway, his tall form leaning against the doorframe, and watched her as she sat at the window. He'd watched as her eyes stayed focussed on a point somewhere outside, somewhere through the torrents of rain that fell from the dark grey clouds. He'd watched her as the silence grew, and he had watched as, this time, she didn't turn around to face him. _

Time had passed, then, just as time was passing for him now. Back then, he had looked at the clock to see the time, had had a _tick … tick … tick _to tell him that time was passing, to inform him that seconds were becoming minutes, which would turn into hours. Tonight, he turned to look at the library's window, tried to see how soon dawn would be arriving.

There was no clock in the library, after all.

Darkness of night still kept light from the window, telling him that the new day wouldn't be arriving _too _soon. He had at least an hour or two left before a faint bit of sunlight would start to filter through the glass panes of the window, and then another hour before anyone else in the house would be awake.

_At least two or three hours in all, _he thought. And the emotions rose once again. Oh, how he would have wished to be given _hours _years ago. How he would have begged and pleaded for just _one hour _back then. Though a single hour would have never been enough, it would still have been more than the minutes that he had had.

But an hour hadn't been coming to them then. They had only had three minutes.

* * *

She had no idea how long she had been standing there, kept hidden from sight by the shadows in the home's corridor. She had no idea what time it was, for there were no clocks near her and her watch had been left in her room. She had no idea when others would start to wake up for the new day.

She had no way to know how much time had elapsed, how soon dawn would be approaching. She had no way to know how long it had been since she'd moved from that very spot in the doorway, though she was sure that at least a couple hours had passed. And yet, her legs held no exhaustion.

Her eyes were no longer tired, her body no longer longing for sleep. Though she knew that very little sleep had been granted to her that night, she didn't care. If anyone asked her in the morning, she would say that she slept just fine. _Or, _she thought, _if I _do _get tired, I'll just say that I woke up really early. _No one would question that, she knew.

Besides, she couldn't tear her gaze away from him.

Though she still did not know why, she remained entranced with the lone figure still sitting in the library. If she was thinking logically, her intelligent mind might have wondered at such reasons, but for tonight, she had pushed them away. For now, it wasn't important for her to understand _why _she felt entranced, _why _her gaze could not be torn away.

For now, all she sought to do was watch.

And maybe – perhaps – to understand. To know. To gain the answers to questions that had long-since been floating through her mind, yet they were questions that she could never directly ask.

Those questions were too private, too tied into his past, and she did not feel as if she had a right to pry into it. She knew that she wouldn't want people prying into her own life, and regardless of the fact that she'd only known him for a year, she was smart enough to see the similar quality in his own personality.

Certain questions just shouldn't be asked. Certain paths were just wrong to tread down. Certain things people just shouldn't be forced to share if they didn't want to.

So she never asked.

She just watched.

* * *

"… _I didn't want the last time I saw you to end that way, just walking out of the door …" _

_Silence had fallen over them then, his eyes breaking their lock with hers as he bowed his head. His hand was still on her shoulder, the both of them sitting on the window seat. Yet neither paid any attention to the storm that lashed against the glass panes next to them. _

_After all, the ticks of the clock seemed so much louder to him than the thunder did. _

11:57

_The time glared out at him from the clock on the wall, visible only thanks to the bright flash of lightning that split the sky. Midnight would come in just _three _minutes; she would be gone in just _three _minutes. They had been together for over two years, and yet now, they were left with just _three _minutes. _

_It wasn't enough. _

_No one could say everything one wanted to say in so short a time. No one – friends, family, lovers, it mattered not – could express every last bit of their feelings, the depth of their emotions, in just three minutes. _

_So words weren't spoken between them. _

_His stormy grey eyes met hers of deepest brown, their gazes locking for the briefest moment, before their lips joined together. Desperation was expressed in the kiss, as were many other emotions. There was need, love, and hope; there was sadness, grief, and guilt. There was want, and there was desire. _

_In that kiss, there was everything that could not be expressed with words in the three minutes they had. _

11:59

_One minute was even more damning than three minutes. And although he had seen the desire to stay shining in her eyes, he had also seen that she knew she could not. Her desire to remain with him – and his own desire to keep her there – was defeated by irrefutable fact. For whatever reason, she couldn't stay. _

He hadn't understood, then, the reasons why. Oh, he had realised that night that there were reasons which existed, reasons that she had known and understood. Or, at least, they were reasons that she had _accepted. _

No, on that night, he hadn't understood. Neither had he understood in the following days, or weeks, or even months.

Years.

It had been years later that he finally understood. Almost thirteen years, actually.

And yet, even now, questions still remained. He _mostly _understood now. But he still did not _fully _understand.

_He had held her face cupped in his hands, lifting a finger every once in a while to wipe her tears away. Their eyes had remained locked with one another, staring at each other in the effort to memorise every last characteristic of their lover's face. A perfect, flawless mental picture each had tried to create in that last minute they had together. _

"_I love you, Hermione," he'd whispered, not removing an ounce of his focus from her. He'd tried to ignore the sounds of the clock on the wall, tried to ignore the damning timepiece that sought to remind him there were only seconds left. _

"_I won't forget you … I _can't _forget you. It's just impossible, so –" _

_The words weren't enough. They hadn't been enough before, and they weren't enough now. His mouth had refused to form the statements that he wanted to say, his tongue couldn't utter all that needed to be said in order to express everything. _

_Only another kiss could do that. _

_And then midnight had arrived, breaking the two of them apart and directing their gazes to the clock as the chimes began. Two hands had met at the top of the circular timepiece, the tips of the arrows pointing towards that thick, black, number twelve. Each successive _dong _rang in their heads. _

"_I love you," she'd whispered to him, their gazes having left the clock to meet each other once again. _

"_Just know that I love you, too." His answer had been quiet, much like her expression, but regardless of the raging storms and loud chimes, both lovers heard the words spoken by the other. _

"_And come back, Hermione. Come back to me." _

The memory faded away, the images of his past slowly drifting from the forefront of his mind, their vividness dimming as they did so. The emotions that had swirled within him, assaulting every part of him, had started to dim as well. Long since buried, they had been – and it was where they would return.

Questions still floated in his head, questions that he still wished to have _entire _answers for. They were questions he'd been wondering ever since that night, questions that had been _mostly _answered almost thirteen years later – but that still had some lingering missing pieces before the puzzle could be declared complete.

Yet the question of _why _was one for which few people _ever _received complete answers.

* * *

She, too, sought understanding. She, too, sought knowledge to her questions. She, too, sought to know why.

Yet she knew that she would never ask him.

So, because her mouth wouldn't ever utter the questions that she so longed to have answered, she kept doing what she had been.

She watched.

* * *

He still sat in the chair in the library, staring at no specific point in the room. Light was still provided only by the single candle on the table in front of him, though the status of the half-empty glass had changed, of course.

He paid little attention to the fact that, had he been able to see an actual clock, it would have told him that dawn would be approaching soon. He cared not that he hadn't slept at all for the past night, instead spending the hours sitting in that chair in the library.

Alone.

Remembering.

"_And come back, Hermione. Come back to me." _

She hadn't come back. He had whispered that final plea to her before she'd left that stormy September night, and she had not returned to him.

Not for thirteen years did he see her again.

"_Er – Mr Black – Sirius?" _

It was almost thirteen years later for him.

Yet it was almost seven years earlier for her.

* * *

She watched him.

* * *

He remembered her.

* * *

_Author's__ Note__: Well, there you have it, everyone! Another Sirius/Hermione story has been finished, and in actuality, this was the one that started it all. It was originally only going to be a _very short_ single and stand-alone one-shot, but then the story just kept growing and growing, the flashbacks that wanted to be written in here helping me to create a huge, overall story for the couple … And the rest, as they say, is history. _

_Thank you very much for reading – and to all those who've reviewed _Come Back To Me _– I appreciate that as well! Please, let me know what you all think about this story. I'd love to hear your thoughts. _

_--ForeverSirius77_


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